As is customary, I am posting the entire 3,000 word chapter 4 of the Bumhampton Chronicles before diving into chapter 5. If you wish to read the first three chapters, I have created a page here with links to each complete chapter. Chapter 4 veered off in many different directions with various plot lines. Whether I continue all of them or only some, I will continue to post in 100-word drabbles. I only write a thousand words in advance, or roughly two weeks of drabbles, so I never really know what twists and turns the next segment will take. I wanted to take the time as well to thank all my loyal readers who have expressed such enthusiasm for The Bumhampton Chronicles.
Our heroine, the vivacious and impudent Ruby Slapumcheeks. His Lordship Caneshard of Lower Bumhampton, who runs a tight house with a whippy cane. Mrs. Cleanknockers, the housekeeper with a firm hand and a roving eye. Mr. Steedstiff, mysterious trainer of the female staff. Miss Frothinglips, the ward of Peacock House, proper upper class diction, with a talented mouth. Louisa Sweetcunny, fellow maid of discipline.
“Where did it go?” I repeated with avid astonishment worthy of a conjuror’s trick at a marketplace performance. I watched with wide eyes and slack jaw as Mr. Steedstiff’s glistening cock slowly reappeared from Louisa’s mouth. He paused with the head pursed by her lips, then slowly pressed forward once again. Mesmerized, I convulsively swallowed as his slender shaft gradually became shorter and shorter until her nose snuffled amongst his chestnut curlies. Mrs. Cleanknockers stepped around the saddle Louisa’s punishment postponed temporarily and stroked my scalp as if I were a favored hound or pantry mouser. “It’s called throating, Ruby.”
She firmly gripped the crown of my head and twisted it slightly so that my vantage point shifted to Louisa’s throat. “Note the bulge in her throat as his cock goes deep.” Under her hand I nodded. Enthralled as I was, I belatedly realized that this ‘throating’ was likely part of my upcoming training. The way Louisa’s eyes were watering and her mouth drooling, this did not appear to be an activity the female enjoyed. “Ma’am?” I began, forcing her hand off my head by turning my beseeching gaze upon her. “Will I…?” My thoughts were arrested by her expression.
Before it vanished like morning dew in the hot sun, for a brief moment, her face held a mixture of loathing, bitterness and anger directed at Mr. Steedstiff. From where I knelt I felt caught between two adversaries intent on besting one another in feats-of-arms. The moment passed and Mrs. Cleanknockers regained her typical hauteur. “To answer your impertinent question, Ruby, all girls must learn to throat their partners. I’m told men find cock swallowing to be amongst the Seven Wonders of the World.” Her bright voice held a brittle edge. “Isn’t that correct, Mr. Steedstiff.” He smirked and winked.
“I certainly enjoy it, Mrs. Cleanknockers, as you well know,” Mr. Steedstiff replied with an energetic thrust of his hips. Louise sputtered and tensed in her bondage. A particularly loud retch drew Mrs. Cleanknockers ire. “I see you have been neglecting your exercises, Louisa,” she barked at the hapless girl. “I will so inform his lordship of your inept performance.” Being as she couldn’t speak with a mouthful of cock, only I, in close proximity to the action, could see the distress on her visage. A pang of sympathy smote my conscience. Once more I rashly spoke out of turn.
“I’d like to try throating, ma’am. It looks like fun to me.” As an attempt to draw fire, my ill-advised witticism was wildly successful. Not so much my first attempt, although with practice, I did become good enough to earn grudging praise. That was months in the future, for now, I paid the price for my stupidity. Mrs. Cleanknockers grabbed my knotted hair and pulled back until I had an upside-down view of her stern face. “Dear, Ruby. Let me congratulate you on being the first girl I’ve ever trained to volunteer for cock sucking. I will grant your wish.”
Mrs. Cleanknockers released my hair with a contemptuous flick. “Mr. Steedstiff. You heard the young lady. I trust you capable of breaking this spirited filly to bridle?” His cock fell out of Louisa’s mouth with a loud ‘plop’ accompanied by much hacking and wheezing. I felt a bit stung by Mrs. Cleanknockers disdain and my pride rose to the occasion. Heedless of the treacherous currents that swirled between our two tormenters, I asked, “Mr. Steedstiff. I wish to learn the proper technique of throating. If you would be so kind as to instruct me, I would be ever so grateful.”
In my peripheral vision I could see Louisa’s disbelief: behind me a loud ‘harrumph’ from Mrs. Cleanknockers. I bravely opened my mouth and braced my palms on the floor for the coming assault. Soaked with Louisa’s saliva, his cock loomed large as his hands firmly gripped my nape. It seemed to have grown and I was hard-pressed to relax my jaw enough to allow entry. Mr. Steedstiff kept up a steady patter as he stroked in and out. “Mind the teeth. Stick out your tongue. Swallow. Fight your gag reflux.” That last was when I nearly cast up my accounts.
Try as I could, his cock would not enter my unwilling throat. He settled for a lengthy dissertation on the proper style of sucking complete with admonishments and exhortations. “Hollow your cheeks. Pucker up and blow. Suck and swallow. Waggle your tongue.” My jaw ached. I was very disappointed with my failure, doubly so when Mr. Steedstiff praised my efforts as being adequate for a first-timer. Mrs. Cleanknockers was not so forthcoming. “Ruby,” she snapped. “In the drawer with yellow tassel is a selection of India rubber dildos. While he finishes off inside Louisa’s throat you will practice with one.”
I dutifully retrieved the shortest and slenderest of the rubber dildos and resumed my kneeling position at Louisa’s head. “Observe the way it should be done, Ruby,” Mrs. Cleanknockers advised. We gagged in unison. I could only manage one failed attempt for every three deep thrusts she endured. My respect for her grew. I no longer cared about the piss-pot. I wanted to belong. I wanted to be admired. I wanted a husband who would enjoy having his cock sucked the correct way. As I coughed and spat on the floor, Mr. Steedstiff was now rapidly jabbing with short strokes.
Louisa’s lips pouted red around his cock. I noticed his breath labored in pants and huffs until his thighs suddenly went rigid. Mr. Steedstiff’s mouth hung open and his face twisted in a rictus akin to pain. Only the head of his cock remained inside her mouth. His shaft made pulsing motions along the length. He breathed out a long exhale of relief. “Do not swallow yet, Louisa,” Mrs. Cleanknockers ordered. “Ruby, as he withdraws, open your mouth and clean the seed off his cock, gently, men are so sensitive right after they spend.” I detected a whiff of sarcasm.
Gentle Reader: do not be alarmed by salacious sexual sceneries; be aroused, for surely I was every time in the Gun Room. There was pain of course, but that is part of life for everyone. To have the opportunity for pleasure, to revel in hedonistic congress – as my mentor Mrs. Cleanknockers would say – with hard cocks and wet cunts: those were truly marvelous days of innocent exploration. I do not want you to feel sorrow for the young girl I was, there was little else a poor orphan could expect, and his lordship truly had my best interests in mind.
Before Mr. Steedstiff departed, I was reminded of my place. He commanded Louisa to dribble his seed onto an ivory ball and then placed it in my mouth. A leather thong threaded through the bit was tied behind my head. He bridled Louisa next, she swallowed first, and I waited for instructions while his cloying scent coated my tongue. Mrs. Cleanknockers took a deep, shuddering breath when the door softly closed in his wake. I was convinced they disliked each other intensely. I could only hope to stay out of the crossfire. “Louisa, an appointment with the strap is next.”
“Ruby, remove your uniform and commence your cleaning duties.” This was my first time witnessing a punishment: both appalled and entranced, I tried to polish the knobs. Eventually though, I abandoned all pretense and sat on the floor behind Mrs. Cleanknockers. I had never realized how resilient the bottom was. Each time the oiled leather slammed onto Louisa’s buttocks; the impact compressed the flesh and sent ripples in every direction. Because she was gagged, only faint mews escaped her lips. I mewed in sympathy at a particular loud slap. That was the other thing: the noise was much louder watching.
The sting, the heat, the searing pain when being spanked, tended to draw attention away from the actual sound of punishment. Seeing the results up close, hearing each stroke, set off fireworks in my cunt. My hand slowly rubbed. Without turning her head, Mrs. Cleanknockers told me, “Ruby, if you don’t stop frigging your quim and get back to work, you’ll replace Louisa when I’m done with her.” That of course, only made things worse. I couldn’t come right out and state, ‘yes, please, yes, please’ although I am sure she knew what I desired. I wanted to be displayed.
It was not to be – not yet – and I reluctantly returned to my duties, difficult as that was. Somewhere around one hundred blows, the sudden absence of noise made my ears ring. I studiously scrubbed the baseboards: mere coincidence offered a clear view of Louisa’s red, plugged, mottled backside. Mrs. Cleanknockers yanked out the bottom stuffing horn with a swift tug and a toot. My eyes popped to mirror the gape revealed. The cunt horn was unlatched from the rod; though hard to tell from my perspective, she appeared to be wet from more than the oil. My pelvis clenched.
Mrs. Cleanknockers tossed the ivory plugs into a bucket along with the rubber phallus I’d been sucking. “Ruby, take a clean towel and wipe down Louisa’s hindquarters, front to back.” I mumbled around my gag and plucked a cloth off the shelf. While Mrs. Cleanknockers removed the many bindings, I rubbed and dried everywhere I could reach. Up close, the feminine scent was intoxicating. I wanted my tongue around the pink folds and drilled into the slack rear portal. I made a frustrated groan when Louisa slid sideways off the pommel. Her legs shook: her nails bit the soft surface.
Our ivory ball gags were removed and joined the other soiled objects in the bucket. I noticed Louisa’s breathing was loud and harsh, her eyes unfocused. The leather saddle was damp to the touch with her sweat. A knock on the door, it opened, and Miss Frothinglips sailed in as a clipper under full canvas. She ignored us both and whispered to Mrs. Cleanknockers. A sharp swivel of the head and her shoulders stiffened. With nary a backwards glance, Mrs. Cleanknockers strode out the door: Miss Frothinglips, after handing Louisa a clean uniform, followed swiftly. Left alone with my nemesis.
Louisa faced me with a blank face. “Thank you, Ruby, for trying to suck his cock. You didn’t have to.” I was stunned at her words and a bit wary. “Do you really mean that?” She smiled crookedly and instead of pulling on her dress, hung it off the highest drawer knob. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry for what I did and for the punishment you received.” She bit her lip and continued. “I was jealous of the attention you were getting and Emily egged me into being stupid again.” I had to admit to being curious at this point.
“I take it you’ve pulled this sort of stunt before?” Before she explained, she took the bucket over to the sink. Hot running water was still a novelty to me. She used a bar of soap and scrubbed each item as she talked. Her background was not much different than mine. A pretty orphan, left to fend for herself, except with the de rigueur villainous cousin who sought to profit from her virginity. “How did you escape?” I wanted to know. “Lord Caneshard and Peacock House are well known in certain quarters. After overhearing, I packed a satchel and left.”
I busied myself wiping down the saddle then applying a fresh coat of oil. “Do you regret your decision, Louisa?” She stopped scrubbing. “I’ve been here ten months. The only thing I regret, Ruby, is being unable to stand up to Emily.” I draped the towel over the pommel and moved behind her. Tentatively, I rested my hand on her shoulder: she stiffened briefly. Her hands ceased washing. I tugged gently, asking without words for her to turn around. She did so, slowly, and kept her head lowered. I emulated Mrs. Cleanknockers and raised her chin. “I forgive you, Louisa.”
“If you’re willing to shift allegiance, Louisa, I’d like to be your friend.” Tears pricked her eyes. I gathered her in my arms, our breasts squashed together. She sobbed. Whether in relief, or delayed reaction to her punishment, I did not know. Without conscious volition, my hands slipped down her back and rested lightly on her hot buttocks. She hiccupped several times, but did not resist or pull away. I gently kneaded. She hissed softly. “Would you like me to apply some cream?” That clearly startled her. My fingers crept lower and teased open her hemispheres. Her eyes grew wider.
Louisa blushed and leaned in, her head rested on my collarbone. I reached down as far as I could, fingertips brushed her rosette, cupped her globes and rubbed lengthwise through her damp thighs. “We’re not supposed to do this, Ruby,” she confessed in a muffled whisper. “We’ll be soundly whipped if we’re caught.” I raised my palm and slapped her bottom. “Then we won’t get caught.” I moved swiftly then, not knowing how long we would be left alone. I pulled her away from the sink explaining what I planned. In case of a sudden return, I staged a tableau.
Louisa, with towel in hand, was braced on the saddle, bottom thrust out, legs spread wide. Me, on the floor, scrub brush and bucket nearby, cheerfully cleaned the aftermath of her punishment. The jar of ointment was hidden under used linen. I scooped a dollop in my palm and dabbed it onto her bottom. I pressed out and up deliberately: each stroke stretched her crack open. My lust built with each peek of her dual charms. I could no longer resist the temptation. “What are you doing, Ruby?” I swallowed hard. “I want to taste you, Louisa. Please say yes.”
Louisa gave a queer moan that sounded part fear and part passion. She dipped her back and rested her forehead on the saddle. A muffled ‘yes’ was all the permission I needed. Perhaps I was not quite so forgiving as I intended, for I was not gentle: although it was mostly lust that spurred me to be greedy in my exploration. I knew her bottom must have been painful, but I ignored her pained yips and forcefully spread her cheeks like an artichoke. Tilting my head back, I stuck out my tongue and swiped upwards across her opened red petals.
Her pussy was still wet inside, the soft opening yielded to my hunger. Seized by a desire to draw down a spending, I hunted for her button and upon locating the tender morsel, attempted to coordinate my lips and fingers to a pleasing harmony. She rocked as I worked, when I sensed her enthusiasm flagging, I pinched her sore bottom. “You will come for me, Louisa, or I will thrash you myself for disobedience.” That speech got a reaction, as her hand slipped down to join with mine. I let her take over her clit, and then her heated pussy.
I could not resist the temptation her red buttocks offered. “You owe me a spanking, Louisa, for this morning. Mrs. Cleanknockers humiliated me in front of the entire downstairs staff. I don’t know how I will face them at dinner.” Because she could not see me, I did not attempt to hide my sneaky grin. “I’m sorry, Ruby, that she beat you so publicly. I’m so sore already, please have mercy on me.” I slapped each dark cheek in turn with my hand as hard as I could. She shrieked and reached back, palm out to protect her sensitive skin.
“Keep rubbing your slutty cunt, you little tart!” I barked with feigned sternness. “I’m going to spank you because you deserve the punishment!” I retrieved a stout leather paddle and smacked all over her wagging bottom as I scolded her. “You should be ashamed to be so weak that you’d attack an innocent for someone else’s plot.” I was surprised to find genuine anger in my soul and I allowed a brief venting with extra hard blows of the paddle. To Louisa’s credit, she never ceased frigging through her tears and pleas. I soon stopped: puckered lips sought my target.
I dug my nails into her white crack and pulled wide, then wider still. The heat warmed my palms while I stared. Her clenched rose still appeared agape from her discipline session. My mouth, filled with her tart feminine crème, watered anew. Where this fascination with her bottom hole arose, I did not know, but I followed my desires and instincts in claiming it. From the very first lick, I was hooked. The taboo action had me shuddering and copiously weeping from my cunny. How I wished I had three hands. The rubbery texture rolled pleasingly beneath my nimble tongue.
I licked again at her anus. I tasted oil mostly with hints of earthy spice. I stretched my tongue out over my lower lip and pressed inwards. Louisa’s rosette gave way just enough to fire my imagination. I lapped and sucked, pretending I’d penetrated deep inside with forked intent. When I heard the interval between Louisa’s breathy pants grow shorter, I redoubled my efforts. I speared my tongue partly inside her rear and twirled while she clamped down as her orgasm neared. I surrendered to my passion, one hand raced across my clit and the other’s fingers entered her pussy.
As Louisa came, the strong contractions pushed my tongue out from her back passage: I sat back marveling at the sheer physicality of a female orgasm. Forgotten for the moment was my own pleasure as her pelvic muscles tensed and rippled. Fluid sprayed out from between her legs and soaked my arm. I reflexively tasted and licked off the excess cum. Even though the Gun Room was soundproofed, Louisa kept her passionate vocalizations to a mere murmur. In her place, I fancied I’d have screamed. Unbeknownst to me, my lungs would soon give a powerful demonstration to many interested parties.
Today being Valentine’s Day, why not choose something more fitting than flowers or chocolates. The Lust in Lace anthology is now available with my novella. In Byron Cane’s Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine, MacRath is a centuries-old vampire returning home after decades of absence. It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Her Majesty has appointed MacRath Her Chastiser of Loose Morals. Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but quite a handful. Despite discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. MacRath will ensure she is well punished and dominated in all ways as befits his naughty Valentine.
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